


Lipstick Smears and Break Room Tears

by GoodJanet



Category: Mad Men
Genre: Angst, Emotions, F/F, First Kiss, Period-Typical Sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2188440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodJanet/pseuds/GoodJanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy comes into Joan's office, ranting about something, so Joan kisses her to get her to shut up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lipstick Smears and Break Room Tears

“Am I just a joke?” Peggy demands.

She enters Joan’s office door like she owns the place and closes it behind her in a decibel just shy of a slam. Joan’s eyes widen slightly at Peggy’s behavior. Peggy is assertive, which is refreshing, but occasionally she crosses the line of assertiveness and is unashamedly rude. It is only their—what: friendship? Camaraderie?—history that keeps Joan’s mouth shut.

She lights a fresh cigarette to resist the temptation of saying something that will make Peggy angrier. 

“I’m not sure how you want me to answer that.”

Deflated, Peggy sits down across from her friend and take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I’m not angry at you. This job feels like purgatory.”

Joan has learned over time that the best thing to do for Peggy in these situation is let her talk herself out of whatever is troubling her this time. It doesn’t do to dwell on the inequalities or the inconsistencies of the workplace. Men were going to do as they pleased just as they had done for the past several thousand years. Although she couldn’t blame Peggy for being upset about it. It’s true; life wasn’t fair for a woman.

“…no respect, you know? I just feel that no one really care what I’m doing, regardless…”

Peggy looks tired. Joan remembers welcoming her on her first day. Bright eyes, long skirt, long ponytail bobbing behind her. She wasn’t supposed to last more than a few months. And yet here she was, a brand new woman before her, though not without her battle scars. Peggy was strong, but she certainly wasn’t immune. The men at SC&P were seldom gentle and even more seldom remorseful.

“…trying to do my best. I want our clients to be happy, but maybe I want to be happy too…”

She knows. She understands. She gets it. Her own bastard son is a reminder of her search for happiness, day in and day out. The best she can hope for now is that Greg is killed in action so that she can move on without worrying about any loose ends creeping up. She will _not_ put the sins of his true father onto her little boy. Kevin is completely innocent, and she will destroy anyone who would try and take that from him.

“…don’t know what to do anymore. I feel so hopeless. Do you ever think about…?”

Quitting? Well, yes and no. Deep down Joan knows that the money she’s making here is truly too good to throw away simply because she’s unhappy here. Money keeps them fed, housed, and clothed, and she really can’t ask for much more in this huge, unforgiving city. New York isn’t for the people who give up when things get difficult. She tries desperately not to think of Lane.

Joan swallows over a lump in her throat. Peggy always does this. Every time she comes in here to rant, it’s as if she rakes all the skeletons and dirt and lies to forefront. Each day she patiently and carefully places a mask of cool neutrality upon her face. She is Joan. She is fierce. She is a conqueror. Yet with only a half-listened to conversation, Peggy dismantles her. And she’s not even doing it on purpose.

Peggy goes on about being unappreciated at work and having her heart toyed with. Joan gets it. Probably more than anyone else here. She’s been here longer than _Don_. She has learned to harden her heart in these kinds of situations. Peggy looks at her with sad eyes and lips turned down into a permanent frown, and all Joan can hear is herself saying, “This is why I don’t allow crying in the break room: it erodes morale. There’s a place to do that—like your apartment.” The words sound cold to her even as they echo back through the decade.

Peggy’s _still_ talking, and she just wants it to stop. She can’t take these reminders anymore.

She rises from her desk, and Peggy’s eyes widen—possibly in fear, possibly in confusion. Maybe even both. All of Peggy’s words rush by and collide, but they _stop_ , and that is all that matters. When she pulls back Peggy is panting a little, and there’s red lipstick smeared on her lips. 

“Why did you…?”

Joan smiles sadly.

“To help you forget.”


End file.
